A Pair of Emerald Earrings
by Mackenzie L
Summary: Carlisle takes Esme to India after she spots a picture of Bombay in a library book. When Esme decides she wants to take the Arabian Sea home with her, Carlisle must find a way for her to do so. 1940s, Canon universe. HR Award Winner - Best Romance.
1. Sunday the Seventeenth

**A Pair of Emerald Earrings**

**by Mackenzie L.**

_Summary: Carlisle takes Esme to India after she spots a picture of Bombay in a library book. When Esme decides she wants to take the Arabian Sea home with her, Carlisle must find a way for her to do so. Set in the 1940s. Canon universe._

_This was going to be a one-shot, but as I was editing it, I got a little carried away. :) This will be a short story of five chapters, detailing the events of Carlisle and Esme's first trip to India. _

_*The Twilight Saga and all its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. _

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_____****__**On June 13, 2011, VH1 Big Morning Buzz invited Twilight actress Elizabeth Reaser (who portrays Esme in the Twilight movies) to read an excerpt from my story. You can view the video at this link: **_http(:)/www(.)breakingdawnmovie(.)org/elizabeth-reaser-reads-twilight-fan-fiction-on-vh1-big-morning-buzz-live/#comments  


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**Chapter 1: **

**Sunday the Seventeenth**

Every so often, a man finds the need to make change in his life. Sometimes the change should be a drastic one; sometimes it must only be a gentle nudge, a slightly different shade of color. For Carlisle Cullen, this familiar need for a nudge arrived in the autumn of 1946, after the war had finally reached its closure. It was then that Carlisle had insisted on a well-deserved break from the chaos of national housecleaning. He wanted to leave the country, for an indeterminate amount of time, with just his wife by his side.

Esme had resisted at first, reluctant that they should need to travel anywhere else when they had an island to call their own. Why whimsically sojourn across the rest of the world when paradise was already marked on their map?

Eager to persuade his hesitant mate, Carlisle had taken Esme to the J. Pierpont Morgan Library in Manhattan one early morning, with the urgency of a husband rushing his dying wife to the nearest hospital. There, he sat her down comfortably amongst the gilded halls and placed before her book after musty, leather-bound book in the hopes that at least one page would inspire her to change her mind.

Esme was more than inspired.

They had arrived at the library at six in the morning. It was well after closing time when they'd finally left.

With every crisp page she turned, her eyes brightened with renewed wonder. Every exotic encounter illustrated inside those books served her imagination as a passionate servant serves his master. Carlisle watched his wife with sickening reverence for hours, beaming to her every smile, his heart thudding back to life at her every enchanted gasp.

She was overcome with awe, tracing her delicate fingers over maps of the world, silently marking her plans for where to visit. She was a goddess, she was an artist, she was a hopeless romantic. And Carlisle was smitten with his wife, buried beneath stacks of open books, tucked against his arm as she asked him question after question about the places he'd seen in all his travels across the globe.

Esme had taken a particular interest in the encyclopedic smorgasbord surrounding Bombay, India. Her eyes lit up like hungry golden stars as she sifted through pages of photographs, admiring the ancient temples and Hindu artwork that would only impress her further. Carlisle burned with information on the place that any referenced work could never offer. When Esme learned that her husband had been to this fantasy city on the edge of the Arabian Sea, she was uncontainable. The more questions she asked, the more Carlisle felt his answers to be inadequate. If only he could take her there, right now…

They sat there together, huddled on the ground in the most obscure corner of the vast library in a sea of hastily collected books and papers. Ironic, how they had secluded themselves between the shelves, tucked far away from the world of which they spoke so passionately. The entire day was anything but wasted by their fruitless hours searching countless books and articles, scouring atlas after atlas – it was all frustratingly preparatory, and their impatience to finally embark on their fantasized journey was mutual.

"We should go here, and here, and—oh! And then here..."

The excitement in Esme's voice was delectable, and Carlisle couldn't help but grin as she continued to point out every inch on the map that had been draped across their knees.

"I told you that you would never want to return to our island again," he murmured, nuzzling the top of her head.

"Oh, I'd never dream of abandoning our island," she assured with a knowing smile, her breath invitingly warm against his neck. "In fact, I was thinking after every place we visit, we should go back to the island just to recuperate."

"Hm." Fighting the instinctual urge to make love to his wife in this pile of books, Carlisle pried her hand from the page to hold her fingers against his chin. "So where have you decided to go?" he questioned with a curious glance at the map on her knee.

"Everywhere."

He chuckled heartily and kissed her ear. "Well, that may take a few centuries."

Her fingers teasingly tickled his chin before drawing him close to brush her lips against his. "Then we're quite lucky to live forever."

-}0{-

If Esme wanted to go everywhere, then everywhere was where they would go. But they had to first pick someplace to begin. Carlisle pondered this problem for days, mentally cataloguing all the wondrous locations he could share with his wife as he made his way through the mundane workday. While he stitched up broken wrists and prepared vaccinations, his mind was adrift on the Indian Ocean. Luckily, a vampire could work rather well while severely distracted.

After a week's worth of thought given to the question, Carlisle decided on a place with which he was rather familiar.

Mumbai, Maharashtra was where he had decided to take her first.

Esme greeted him at the door that night, drowning him in her sparkling laughter when he revealed the unique name of their first destination.

"The accent suits you," she teased, her fingers tangled in his stethoscope.

"I may need to teach you some Hindi before we go," he mused, too close to her face to resist the suggestion of a kiss.

He touched his lips to her smile quickly, allowing her a moment to whisper, "I wouldn't mind that."

"I'll arrange everything for November," he promised.

But November was such a long way away.

Carlisle worked incredibly hard to plan their trip, and Esme helped the organization along in any way she could. It made it all the more challenging to be talking enthusiastically about it every night, just inching their way closer to the day when they would finally embark on the journey.

They passed each other in the hall every so often, and when they felt the need to stop for a kiss, one of them would whisper, _"India,"_ like it was their deepest secret. And for a while it was a secret. Until Edward spilled their plans.

Emmett and Rosalie, being the extravagant pair they were, thrust their passports beneath their father's nose and requested that they take a trip of their own while he was gone. Edward fumed that they could have the gall to exclude him, and suddenly the parents had a minor feud to tame.

Somehow, Carlisle had taken care of everything. He made simple efforts and crafty promises to appease each of his children, and they were, for the most part, begrudgingly satisfied.

When Carlisle finally marked an exact date of departure on their calendar, Esme found it even harder to contain herself. Each day dragged on the closer they came to Sunday the seventeenth. She sang it in her head like an addicting song, _Sunday the Seventeenth, Sunday the Seventeenth. _Now, when she stopped in the hallway to kiss her husband, she whispered the precise date against his lips.

Edward stalked past them, shaking his head.

"Darling, I don't know if you noticed, but _our_ children have been calling _us_ 'children'," Esme warned her husband one night in early November.

"Let them," Carlisle murmured, opening their bedroom windows to let in the crisp night air. "We'll have every right to be as child-like as we want when we leave." He smiled as he pulled his wife into a tight embrace, leading her toward the window.

"Eleven days," he whispered against the back her neck. A pleasant chill traveled up her spine.

Her eyes stumbled through the star-sprinkled sky, hesitant to flutter shut as Carlisle's hands locked neatly over her belly.

"I can't wait much longer," she all but whimpered, wincing happily as he garnished her jaw with feather-light kisses.

"I know a way to pass the time," he whispered hoarsely, tapping his fingers in mock-impatience against her hips.

The moon melted behind her eyes as he carried her back to bed.

**-}0{-**

After what seemed like centuries, Sunday the Seventeenth had finally arrived.

The day itself brought no fanfare. Instead, it had been raining non-stop since midnight well into the morning. Everything was gray, but because it was _their day_, it was beautiful.

The packing process had gone on for four days; Esme wanted to be absolutely certain that she had not left anything of great importance out of her list. She had taken the liberty of packing for her husband as well. Carlisle always thought he could get by on nothing more than a fountain pen and a journal, and maybe a few clean shirts. Maybe he _could _get by on just those things if they had been going to Isle Esme… but she suspected that the central trade port in India would appreciate a bit more modesty from their visitors.

All the thoughts of what they would do when they finally got there made Esme flush with delightful nerves. She had been to South America and to Europe before, but something about the exotic lands of Asia gave the impression that they were leaving for a new world altogether. Waiting years before being able to travel freely amongst humans had seemed a daunting expectation from the beginning. Carlisle had kept his faith in her throughout it all and well beyond. In the end, it had made the long road to control quite worth the struggle. Her life could not be more amazing now.

Esme was sinfully impatient as she waited for her husband to return from his last shift at the hospital that Sunday morning. Unable to contain her excitement any longer, she gathered up every book about India she could get her hands on and pushed herself into a corner to soak up the wonderful literature. The abundance of photographs, however familiar they were by now, still caught her eye. Magnificent temples set against a dry blue sky, exotic foliage and white sand beaches. It was like her island, but it was new, it was different, and most exceptionally, it was populated.

After an hour or two, Rose and Emmett peeked behind the bookshelves, curious as to the cause of their mother's enthusiastic squeals. Esme happily showed them the extensive list of plans for her exotic getaway, not so intentionally boastful about all she and Carlisle would see on their travels soon to come.

Emmett's rich laughter was encouraging as he took his place beside his mother on the ground, helpless to share in her excitement. "Maybe next time I could tag along?" he suggested, squeezing her arm. Esme giggled her consent, not without the customary kiss to her grinning son's dimpled cheek.

"Without a doubt, love."

Esme did not fail to notice the light that filled her daughter's eyes at the promise. In her graceful, quiet manner, Rosalie carefully folded her slender legs and joined the pair on the floor, gathering the weight of several books on her lap.

The sweetness of having a family to call her own was a blessing Esme had never taken for granted. Each member's company was equally enjoyable and precious to her for so many unique reasons. Carlisle as her husband, Edward as her philosophical musician, Rosalie as her beloved daughter, and Emmett as her source of humor in dark times. She had taken to calling Emmett her "sunshine son," and while Edward did not particularly favor the nickname, he could not argue that it was an appropriate one.

Together they formed a beautiful balance. Emmett's carefree nature lightened up Edward's more cynical attitude, while Rosalie's bold tendency to confrontation kept both boys on their toes. Esme treated all of her children with boundless love, and Carlisle made sure each of them received the proper dosage of that love.

Even in the midst of her flurrying excitement as she prepared to leave the country, it was saddening for Esme to leave her three children behind.

They wished her luck as they bid her goodbye – Rosalie with a light embrace, Emmett with his infamous bear hug, Edward with a gentle kiss to her cheek and one slightly pleading look that might have been saying, _"Don't leave me with these two for too long."_

The poor boy had the hardest time adjusting shortly after Rosalie and Emmett had wed. While Carlisle had tried to be patient and accommodating with their newlywed residents, it had been a tremendous adjustment for all of them to comfortably live under the same roof. The new couple were relatively more reserved now, but Edward often still longed to keep his space.

"We'll be back in a few weeks," Esme reassured with an apologetic smile of understanding as she returned her son's embrace. "I'll be thinking of you."

His smile warmed her heart to the point where she wondered if taking Edward along wasn't such a bad idea.

Carlisle cleared his throat behind her, in the gentlest suggestion that they not waste time. After a quick round of kisses for each of her children, Esme picked up her suitcases and followed her husband out the door. Once outside together, Carlisle brandished an umbrella against a sleek army of raindrops, holding the protective black blossom over her head as she stepped from the porch to the driveway.

He took her bags one by one and filled the back seat of the car, the closing of the door a mark of unsettling finality. Carlisle knew his wife would want to take one last (very long) look at their home before they left for good. So he patiently waited as she stood beside the car, staring up at the familiar facade of the house she had painted and renovated herself. His arm never tired as he held the umbrella high over her head, determined that not a single drop from the sky would find its nest in her hair.

After a prolonged minute of silent farewell, Esme turned to her husband with glittering eyes. "Take me away, Doctor Cullen."


	2. Feels Like Heaven

**Chapter 2:**

**Feels Like Heaven**

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The rain was rough on the roads as they drove across the state that morning. Having stopped once on the outskirts of town for one last substantial hunting trip, they had done their best to keep from getting too soaked before the storm strengthened well into the afternoon. Even with the ghastly weather, Esme still found it impossible to pout. She suspected the rain would continue until they arrived at the airport, but to her surprise, the storm had dissipated into a gentle drizzle by the time they reached the city.

By this time in their lives, it had seemed almost preposterous that neither of them had ever even visited an airport before. They had seen pictures of course, and plenty of advertisements in the evening news honoring the wonders of commercial flight. Emmett and Edward had built scale models of airplanes alongside Esme with her preferred architectural structures. They just never took the chance to purchase a ticket and hop aboard. While Esme was slightly disappointed that her sons would be missing out on the first experience of flight, she was immensely grateful to be sharing it with Carlisle.

They traveled by airplane for the first time together, _Pan America_, as neither of them had known precisely what to expect. The foreign experience had only made everything that much more exciting.

Esme had nearly swooned over her adoration for the commercial flight. That she could sit, perfectly comfortable in a cushioned seat by a window as she flew through the atmosphere in this sleek, industrial wonder was an impossible delight. The airport was bustling with importance and excitement. The pilot just looked so _dashing _in his uniform, and the stewardess looked so lovely in her matching navy blue jacket and blouse, and all those eagle wings stamped everywhere looked so patriotic...

The take-off was incredible – and that was saying a lot for a vampire. Scarcely any experience save for the ones they treasured together could be described with such grand adjectives. But this came awfully close.

The sudden rush forward, the insane pressure of opposing forces as the runway sped by outside the tiny window, the frightful thrill of defying gravity as the airplane left the ground... It was like living a preposterous dream. They had waited far too long to try it.

It took eleven days and five overnight stops to travel half-way across the world. In hindsight they would find that these days leading up to it all were just as much a part of the adventure as the days that followed their arrival. It was endlessly entertaining to pretend they were just scraping by, dime by dime from their pockets. In reality they had more security on hand than many of the unfortunate countries they passed through, but playing the part of a desperate traveler was undeniably rich.

They stayed overnight in Seville, Spain, in an adorable street-side inn where they were given a room with a cramp iron balcony and a single lantern for light. They were lucky the sky had been afire with starts that night. Instead of cold Sangria, they drank warm blood on the outskirts of the city. In the morning, they returned to their bed, satisfied though they'd gotten not a wink of sleep. They happily declined their continental breakfast and headed off to catch their next plane.

They endured a chain of flights across Europe, and upon reaching Istanbul, Turkey, they settled in for a train ride into the Middle East. The barren landscape that whizzed past their window was occasionally decorated by a stunning temple in the middle of nowhere. Every second they came closer to their destination, and every time they stopped to trade passengers, Esme stomped her foot in impatience.

She was only more endearing in her anger.

"I'm beginning to wonder if we might have made better time had we simply run the rest of the way there."

Laughing at her glaring expression, Carlisle shifted closer to take his wife under his arm as they stared out the sand-dusted window.

"It will all be worth it when we get there," he promised.

The train stopped at every other station along the way, and while everyone else celebrated the simple act of breathing fresh air, Carlisle and Esme found their peace in the local wildlife of wherever they happened to be. They just hoped none of the animals they fed on were endangered.

Finally, they reached the end of what would forever be known as the longest eleven days of their life. The families around them were exhausted, but the only pair of vampires were wide awake and brimming with energy at their arrival in cloudy Bombay.

For a stunning minute or so, they were transported back to the Pierpont Morgan Library, stuffed into their corner on the floor, surrounded by open books. Back then these had just been pictures printed on paper... Now they were real, solid, three-dimensional wonders, right before their very eyes. And all of it was waiting for them to explore in a way even their infused imaginations never could.

A new rainbow of colors and a new plethora of scents were swirling gaily around them as they mingled with the deliciously alien environment. Young children who may or may not have had a home scampered in mad circles, their skinny brown legs caked with dust, their eyes wide and perfectly round as they navigated their way through the crowded street. People went about their business, their heads covered in brightly colored patterns and sheer veils to hide their lips as they spoke. Men shouted prices while women defended their honor, and the heat seemed to have a voice of its own, pressing around everyone like an overprotective mother as they moved along with the current.

Esme rushed through the crowds on her way out of the station, untryingly graceful and so pale in comparison to the sea of bronze faces surrounding her; it looked as if she were being followed by a stark white spotlight from above. She somehow reminded Carlisle of the heroine in a grand musical production, preparing to twirl on stage with her opening number. He laughed freely at the image this wayward thought produced in his head, and somewhere ahead of him, Esme whipped around to find her husband through the weaving people. She knew his tender laughter anywhere...

Reaching out with her slender arm, she caught onto the only other deathly pale hand in the heat of the chaotic crowd. Like magnets they came together, grinning like children who had stumbled into a land made of candy. They were in their own little world, clutching a leather suitcase and a single carpet bag, surrounded by the hectic hustle of foreign tongues and bartering tourists. They were unaffected by the company, untempted by the heady scents, undeterred by the heat. They were, simply and purely, together in a place they had waited torturous months to discover. Standing here on the harbor, hand in hand, they were no longer foolishly pining over an atlas sprawled over their laps. Now they were a part of the wild world, and this was only the start of an epic journey.

**-}0{-**

The fog had dispersed shortly after their arrival, and the oncoming sun had sent them into rented shelter more quickly than they had hoped. Through the afternoon, they became acquainted with their modest yet comfortable dwelling, enjoying the peace of having nowhere to be but _here_.

The sun was gentle enough that they chose to sit out on the porch, beneath the shade of a fine cloth canopy. From their shelter they could safely watch the comings and goings of ships in the harbor across the bay. It was pure heaven to feel the warm caress of an afternoon breeze, sent in from the briny waves. The sea was shining, a most entrancing shade of opaque emerald under the weary sun. The water was choppy in a lazy, content sort of way. It fit well with this place, they thought.

At the distant gong of the harbor bell, Esme lifted her head from her husband's shoulder to glance at his face with sparkling eyes. Her gaze revealed clearly how thankful she was to finally have a moment just for them, and he could not deny it – after a deliriously busy trip, this place was their haven. They were no longer confined to the courtesies and restrictions set onboard a plane or train.

They could do whatever they most desired, now...

With an exchanged stare of silent understanding, Esme took Carlisle's hands and led him back inside where the shade was deeper. The door was left open, welcoming in the sounds of the sea, and the comfort of the breeze, and the scents of jasmine. There were several brightly colored cushions on the floor, candles that they hadn't been expected to light until after dark, but Carlisle had lit them anyway. He loved candles a little too much.

He slipped off his belt and stepped out of his shoes, the mundane shedding of accessories made thrilling under her watchful gaze. Once adequately disheveled, he struck a match to light the rest of the shallow candles, bending invitingly at the waist as he crowned each wick with a glowing tiara of fire.

His wife sighed happily as he lit the last votive and dipped the match into a vase full of sand. A tiny tendril of blue smoke rose from the ash, curling seductively, like a thin wispy arm reaching toward heaven.

It melted away into the fragrant air, and they were alone at last.

Carlisle kissed Esme once on the forehead as her practiced fingers slowly plucked the buttons of his loose white cotton shirt. His fingers likewise faced the challenge of untying each tedious pair of laces behind her sunshine yellow dress. They had worn their most comfortable clothes on purpose for traveling. But they would be more comfortable without them.

Each time Carlisle opened his lips to say something, Esme silenced him with the gentle gift of her mouth against his. They didn't need to speak – not when they had such glorious ambiance to speak for them.

Eventually Carlisle surrendered to the conversation of untainted silence, his stomach fluttering as Esme's soft little hands moved from cotton to khaki.

Her dress dropped to the ground and she daintily brushed it aside with her foot. Without a single word, her dark eyes told him silently, _"I need you."_

Carlisle was more than happy to give Esme whatever she needed.

With tender arms he folded her into his embrace and slowly descended into the pillows, upsetting a bowl of unbitten fruits from its place on the floor. The aromatic cluster of colors tumbled away, forgotten as the couple lost themselves in a tide of unseen desire.

The afternoon sun grew weary outside their open windows, but the wind from the sea strengthened encouragingly as they made love on the scattered cushions. An audience of candles slowly extinguished one by one as their display grew more passionate; the final flame flickered shyly, attempting to endure the peak of their ardor. But at the last gasping feminine cry, it was stunned into a slender thread of smoke.

**-}0{-**

The bright hours of the late afternoon slipped lazily by as they lay together on the floor, soaking in their own joint solitude. After the firm clutches of their passions released them, they were blissfully content, watching a hazy purple sunset from their nest of elaborately embroidered pillows. A tangle of two solid ivory arms lay prone against a brightly patterned scarlet cushion, their fingers weaving together in quiet collaboration, never parting.

Esme at last turned her head on the pillow to face her husband, finding his eyes peacefully closed, yet somehow vigilant all the same. She felt that even when his eyes were shut, Carlisle still watched over her from beneath the shade of his eyelids, that he could see her perhaps even more clearly when he was not truly looking at her. He saw her in utter darkness, he sensed every aching angle of her presence around him. He caught the scent of her every stolen breath and sent each softly back to her, buried beneath her beauty.

Cautious as if reaching to touch a sleeping baby, Esme let the tips of her fingers graze delicately over the slope of his jaw. She had hoped to coax his eyes open, but instead she had coaxed a tender purr... which was just as nice.

Smiling rather giddily, Esme trailed her fingers slowly down his throat to rest against the smooth plane of his chest.

"I'm touching your heart," she whispered as if in warning.

The smallest smile flickered on his sculpted lips for a fleeting moment. "Hmm. Aren't you always, love?"

"I suppose I am," she consented with a kiss to his chin.

A nudge of something warm and impulsive filled her belly as Carlisle leaned back slightly to stretch his arms. She shamelessly savored the glorious fit of flickering muscle as he exhaled heavily and settled one arm securely around her head, sliding closer. His face tilted up to the ceiling, studying the coffee-colored stucco with rich ocher eyes.

With his free hand, he absently fondled one of the tiny gold tassels on the corner of the cushion he held between them. Subconsciously, Esme's fingers joined his of their own accord, tugging each of the shiny yellow threads in turn until their fingers had helplessly begun to mate. What had started out as innocent boredom had quickly turned into a playful battle. Carlisle's fingers had deftness and strength, yet Esme's had grace and guile – as was natural, neither one dominated.

Eventually they reached a mutual surrender, hands clasping together to proclaim peace at the end of their frivolous little war - though many a golden thread had sadly lost its life.

"The sun is going down," Esme noted absently. A shiver of palm leaves outside the shady porch seemed to confirm the news.

"When evening falls, we'll go back to the marketplace. I want to show you so many things," Carlisle sighed wistfully, "There are artists and musicians and vendors selling everything you can think of."

Esme raised her head hopefully. "Like in the books?"

He lovingly touched the tip of her nose as he smiled. "Far better than the books."

"You still haven't taught me any useful Hindi phrases like you promised," Esme reminded, feigning disappointment.

Carlisle raised his eyebrows. "Well, we should change that now." With a straight face, he introduced his wife to her first foreign phrase, "_Shubh sundhyaa_."

Suppressing her urge to laugh, Esme asked, "What does that mean?"

"Good evening," he replied politely.

She allowed herself to giggle as he tickled his fingers along the side of her neck. "How charming."

"Let's see, what else might be useful?" he mused, looking heavenward for inspiration. "_Accha_ means 'good', and _Boora _means 'bad'" He ticked off his fingers as went along, "_Haan_ is 'yes' and _Naa _is 'no.'"

Shaking her head slowly, Esme held her fingers to his lips to gently silence him.

"Tell me something romantic in Hindi," she suggested softly.

An inspired gleam cloaked Carlisle's eye as he leaned slightly closer and stroked his knuckles lovingly over the curve of her right breast.

_"Yaha kaisā laga rahā hai"_

Effectively ruining the moment, Esme burst into a fit of giggles.

"Now, now. You never laugh when I speak in Italian."

"Because it doesn't sound nearly as funny!"

An agitated smirk bloomed on his lips. "As I was saying..."

"I remember, I remember. You asked me a question: _Yaha kaisā laga rahā hai_?" she recalled perfectly.

His smirk broadened slyly as he reached down to touch her again, emphasizing each caress with care. "And you should answer me with this: _Yaha svargīya lagatā hai_."

In the midst of his distracting strokes, she repeated the foreign phrase obediently, "_Yaha svargīya lagatā hai._"

Suspicious to the way her husband's eyes had suddenly darkened, Esme had to ask. "What did we just say?"

"I just asked you what this felt like, and you told me that it felt like heaven..." He brushed his lips temptingly over hers, just barely submitting to a kiss. "...But your accent is dismal," he added.

She scoffed in offense and tossed the nearest pillow at him, mussing his hair.

Unfazed, Carlisle pulled Esme back into his arms, holding her prisoner as he lavished her face with kisses. "Though I'm certain you will improve with practice, darling," he murmured between each peck.

Esme giggled as she teasingly turned away to face the open windows. "The best way to practice would be to mingle with the natives a bit, wouldn't you say?"

It was a subtle reminder that the world outside was waiting, a suggestion that their time alone was soon to be overdue.

Carlisle hummed noncommittally as his hands roamed the valleys of his wife's curves from behind. "Let's just stay here for a little while longer, hm?"

She could not refuse him that.

"Very well." She sighed and rested her head on the pillow beside his. They both settled to stare silently out the open doors for a minute or two, just drinking in the spectacular sight of the sea under sunset.

After a while, Esme's fingers lifted to begin a languid sort of dance over the horizon from her distance. With blissful artistry, she traced the silky green waves, her fingers following the tranquil motions in perfect time.

She could hear Carlisle chuckling softly over her shoulder and it forced an instant smile from her.

"Are you painting, my dear?" he questioned lightly.

"How did you know?"

He swiftly stole her hand and boldly kissed her fingers one at a time. "I can taste the sea on your fingertips, my love," he noted huskily.

Esme shivered. "Isn't it intoxicating?"

She felt him nod. "I suspect you've made it that way." His low voice rumbled pleasantly against her back as she pressed against him.

"Carlisle..." she softly whimpered his name.

He stroked a few strands of hair away from her eyes. "Yes, love."

"I desperately wish I had brought my paints with me," Esme confessed regretfully.

Carlisle found himself frowning as he watched the waves crash softly on the shore. A brief vision of Esme curled up in the open window with her watercolors made his heart clench. It would have been the first thing she set out to do when she arrived.

"You'll remember this scene perfectly enough; you can paint it first thing when we arrive back home," Carlisle appeased, "It will give you something to look forward to when we return."

"I suppose so," she sighed, still hopelessly smitten with the scene. "It's so beautiful."

His breath was heavy on her bare shoulder as he whispered knowingly, "You wish you could carry it around in your pocket, don't you?"

Esme felt her heart give a shudder.

"How do you know me so well?"

"I'm your husband," She could hear the smile in his voice. "It's my duty to know everything about you..." he trailed off cryptically as his fingers lingered over the curve of her spine.

"I believe there are still one or two things you do not know," Esme taunted shamelessly as she turned to face him with mysterious eyes.

"Hm? And what might those be?" he asked in a low voice, the question burning in his gaze.

"Oh, Carlisle. Always so curious," she tutted lovingly, tapping the side of his cheek with her hand.

"Would you really have me believe that _I _am the curious one, dear?" He cocked an eyebrow, and she had trouble refuting him.

"I'd say we're about even," she conceded in a throaty whisper.

Carlisle had no complaints.

"I can live with that."

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_**A/N: **__I am having such fun writing this story. Thank you so much for reading along. I'd love to hear what you think of it so far!_

_Next chapter, Carlisle and Esme explore the Marketplace at Mumbai. _


	3. The Sacred Lotus

**Chapter 3: **

**The Sacred Lotus**

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Evening arrived with a rush of cool breath from the sea. Under the hazy twilight, a smattering of pink clouds tickled the horizon, the residue of a brilliant sunset skimming the surface of the water's edge. Their walk into Mumbai was hurried and eager. One could follow their footprints leading from the open door through the dust, the smaller of the two pairs of feet clearly more rushed than the larger. Their footprints told a story on the path, marking where they had struggled to hide in the shadows from a passerby, then where they had paused to kiss _– _their feet had faced each other for that moment, an awkward interruption in the pattern of side-by-side steps.

Their sandals carried the dust of a thousand cities and scattered it about as they entered the crowded streets, just a pair among many.

The aromatic spice of ginger root and the rich fire of curry were heady upon the air. The orgy of ripe scents seemed to permeate the air around them, touching the senses in such a physical way it felt a challenge to breathe. The scents, the spices, the exotic perfumes, the tang of strange fruit, the musk of dirt and salty seawater _– _all were dueling for dominance, but not one could defeat the rest.

The doctor and his wife were hard-pressed to blend in seamlessly with their new atmosphere. Unsurprisingly, the paleness of their flesh had attracted very many an eye among the crowds. People stared forwardly at the pair of vampires as if they were residents of the moon. But somehow they were accepted into the culture, rather as a pair of doves might find subtle relations among a flock of pigeons.

They happened across the produce displays first on their way through the marketplace. Esme had come to a predictable halt before the bright assortment of radish, green onions, carrots, and tomatoes. Her eyes feasted on the array, not out of any appeal to the appetite, but simply for their aesthetics. No one else would have guessed why she was_ really _so smitten with the produce selection. But her husband had guessed her proposition before it came.

Esme wanted to buy some - "just for the colors."

So Carlisle turned out his pockets and grabbed the last basket.

He watched her with an indulgent smile as she picked out a rainbow of fruits and vegetables, organizing them in her subconsciously artistic ways inside the basket she carried. The variations of light and dark green chillies, the sunny yellow of bananas, the delightful orange of papaya, and the scarlet flush of pomegranates, all nestled against each other as she carried them. She was right. They were lovely.

Esme looked rather proud as she carried her basketful of produce around the market _–_ though she hardly blended in well with the women around her. Any females who walked the streets wore veils across their faces, exposing only their cat-like eyes to scrutinize their surroundings. Esme wore a dress as pale as her own skin, an endearing knot of pink sash tied crookedly behind the small of her back. As she walked in front of him, Carlisle couldn't help but admire the gentle sway of her hips as they caused the ribbon to come loose. He caught her with one finger before it fell and deftly tied it before she could notice it had come undone.

As they came upon an endless row of art vendors, a young boy juggling three custard apples passed them with a winsome grin. Helplessly charmed by the boy's face, Carlisle managed to "accidentally" slip a spare coin into the child's satchel as he walked by. The doctor listened for the happy cry of surprise a few seconds later and was silently satisfied that he had made the lad's night.

As Carlisle turned around to watch the boy skip out of sight, he briefly lost hold of Esme's arm. The crowds nearly suffocated the sweet scent of his wife, for a moment sending a shudder of panic through him as he quickly searched for her face. Of course, Esme was the brightest spot in the crowd, standing predictably before an elaborate display of artwork with her head bowed over a sculpture of the Dancing Shiva.

Taking her waist between his hands as he came up behind her, Carlisle secured his chin on her shoulder and silently vowed not to let go for the rest of the night.

"You keep this same sculpture in your study; I've seen it before," she commented, her voice still clear as bells in the ruckus surrounding them. "What does it mean?"

"The Shiva is an emblem of balance _–_ he tramples ignorance and cowardice beneath his feet, and his four hands symbolize the four cardinal directions," Carlisle answered, tracing his fingers familiarly over the features of the statue. "It represents the rhythm and harmony of life."

She gingerly set the statue down on the table in exchange for a new one.

"So what is the story behind _this _sculpture?" Her voice was notably breathier as she lifted a smaller pair of entwined figures for him to view up close.

Taking the sculpture carefully into his hand, he pursed his lips and studied it slowly. "I believe this one is modeled after the carvings in the Khajuraho Temples..."

She stared at him questioningly.

"...The temples devoted to the Tantric wonders of sex," he whispered discreetly against her ear.

Her instinctive gasp became a breathy giggle. "I take it you've been there before, Doctor."

The charmingly sheepish smile that crossed his face could have crippled a champion gladiator. "It was rather intimidating at the time, you see," he lowered his voice, "…I was still a virgin."

She clasped his hip with a reassuring but gentle hand. "We should have gone _there _on our visit."

"Next time," he murmured, carefully setting the smooth stone couple down on the table.

Esme grinned to herself, now knowing there would_ be _a next time.

Reaching over decidedly, she picked up the small sculpture that Carlisle had just put down and held it to her heart. "I want to buy it."

It seemed all right to ask for lavish spoils here. Somehow in this setting Esme did not feel the least bit guilty in demanding that her husband purchase whatever she wished for. Carlisle didn't seem to mind the nature of her demands either.

Esme watched with devoted eyes as her husband began to barter with the vendor in Hindi. She stood clutching Carlisle's arm all the while, still giggling at the way he sounded as he spoke in the foreign tongue. Forty-seven seconds later, the stone couple was sealed safely in her basket, frozen in their love upon a bed of fertile fruits.

From the sparkle that lingered in her eyes, Carlisle knew that Esme's intentions would not end there. Her gaze was drawn to the endless display of paintings and prints, finding every new piece of art to be more irresistible than the last. Assuring her husband that the paintings were far too expensive, Carlisle reluctantly settled to purchase several colored prints of exotic animals for her to keep. Esme gathered her gifts together in her basket, jokingly complaining that the load had gotten too heavy for her to carry.

Even though it was impossible for her arms to grow tired, Carlisle offered to hold the basket anyway.

Once free, Esme's hands soon became full with other things.

She promptly began to rummage through the crates of old books on display, absently ordering them into neat little piles as she looked through them one at a time. The first volume that had held her interest for more than several seconds was one Carlisle had not expected. When his restless wife at last turned to face him, she held in her hands a copy of the Kama Sutra.

He wondered for a moment if she knew what the subject of the popular title entailed. Seeing the glint in her gaze, he guessed she had been very aware of her selection.

"I want to buy this one," she said softly with a hint of a smirk.

Blinking innocently, Carlisle carefully replied, "Do you know what that book is about?"

"Yes," she whispered, her lips breaking into a full, coy smile, "I know." She stepped suggestively closer. "Have you read it before?"

He slowly shook his head. "Surprisingly, that particular title hasn't yet shown up in my personal library in over three centuries."

Esme's eyes dropped reverently to the gilded cover of the book as she trailed her fingers over its spine. "Well, then perhaps it's time to rectify that."

Carlisle sighed. He would be lying if he said he was not interested in adding it to his collection. And now that Esme was practically begging him to buy it, he hardly had a choice in the matter…

"It's written in Hindi," she noticed with a pout as she flicked through the first few pages.

"I suppose I'll have to translate it for you, then," Carlisle amended as he gently pried the book from her hands.

"Maybe you could write it for me," she suggested as he fished through his pockets for another pair of silver coins. "And feel free to elaborate wherever you see fit." She placed her hand innocently on his back to send a shiver down his spine.

"That would make an awfully long book, Esme," he warned.

Her expression was shamelessly wanton as he pressed the purchased book into her open palms.

She grinned. "Feel confident that I would read all of it."

Esme hugged her new book protectively to her chest while she walked contentedly at her husband's side, quietly thrilled that his touch never left her. But by the time she reached the clothing vendors, Esme was willing to spare that contact for just a moment or two.

A woman clad in long black robes approached her, lifting surprisingly graceful arms to drape an elaborate purple scarf over Esme's shoulders. The lips beneath her dark veil mumbled a stream of quiet words, indecipherable to the vampire's untrained ears. Esme blinked, turning to her husband in question. Carlisle graciously translated, "She says it is your color."

With a flattered smile, Esme took both ends of the scarf in her hands and admired the expensive fabric. It took only that lingering look for Carlisle to offer the seller a handful of coins. As soon as she was sure it belonged to her, Esme indulged herself with a few minutes of primping, though she couldn't have looked anything less than stunning if she'd tried.

All of the silliest hats and turbans she could find went immediately to the top of her husband's head. Carlisle humored her antics relentlessly as they worked their way down the crowded aisle. By the time they'd reached the very last stall, his blond hair had been fully tousled into a fine golden mess.

As she pulled the final accessory from his head, he began to laugh, his eyes dreamlike but still wholesome with humor. Esme looked to him in the midst of the crowd, her heart stricken by how dashing he looked – at least a head taller than everyone around him, shockingly blond and scandalously white, his strong chest off-set by a pale, Paris green shirt. The color alone was indecently perfect for him, but that perfection was formidable in the third button down, which had somehow become unattached from its slit on the other side. He never noticed, of course – the intolerable loveliness of his elegantly disheveled appearance, his collar set apart like a pair of tired pastel wings around his neck. The temptation to lean in and kiss his throat was killing her softly, but the quiet need had filled her with an odd sort of exuberance to last her the rest of the evening.

Esme had become happily distracted, however, when they finally found the jewelry displays. Those who sold finer objects were set apart from the larger crowds. It was quieter here, cooler here, where the rest had no means to pay for such items. These were reserved for heavy-pocketed tourists who had come a long way in search of unattainable treasures.

Carlisle watched Esme's curious fingers wander across each glittering item in passing, the golden glint in her eyes rivaling every trinket he had been offered by the greedy vendors. With every jewel she admired, his urge to purchase something for her grew stronger until he could feel the last few coins in his pockets burning through the cotton. What use were those thin circles of silver sleeping by his hip? He could exchange them for something infinitely more special, something that would serve a much nicer purpose sleeping around his wife's neck or wrist...

The various chokers and necklaces and rings he studied were all rather flashy for his taste. Carlisle could see his blonde diva of a daughter enjoying such extravagant accessories…but Esme was not Rosalie.

He patiently turned away every bracelet that more resembled a shackle, and every bauble that looked more like hard candy, until finally his eyes fell upon a pair of emerald earrings.

They were not overtly gaudy or ostentatious by any means; in fact, they seemed to be the only remotely humble pair on display, showing their beauty not by size or brilliance, but by the sheer unexpectedness of a tiny green star sparkling under a vine of even tinier diamonds. They fulfilled his intention for them to complement his wife's beauty, not compete with it – though it was impossible to compete with Esme's beauty.

He compared her to sunrise and moonlight, and everything between the two. She had so much to offer a man as curious and insatiable as he. It sometimes confounded Carlisle that Esme was just as hopelessly fascinated by him.

He saw that fascination in her glowing smile, the bright flash of her small white teeth, the charming flinch of her dimples. Her lips molded to that smile so wonderfully – soft, rosy and full of promise. It never failed, when he looked at her. That smile was devoted to him endlessly. His gaze ignited it; his attention strengthened it.

One smile from her was all it took. He could no longer stand there and simply wonder what she would look like, smiling with the glitter of green gemstones peeking out from under her hair. He _needed _to buy her those earrings.

Once Esme's attention had been diverted, Carlisle turned to the vendor and offered up a generous sum of his money for the pair of earrings. There was no bartering done this time. He had no time to be sly when he had to be quick. Carlisle watched protectively as the elderly man took the jewels behind a screen to secure them in a small wooden box.

Esme almost caught him with the box in his hand as she turned around, but out of nowhere, the timely intrusion of a stray cat by her ankles startled her into looking away. Carlisle swiftly stuffed the box of earrings into his pocket and took his wife's arm.

"That reminds me... We need to find a suitable place for dinner."

**-}0{-**

Livestock was easy enough to come by on the outer rim of the nestled towns. However, being too kind to steal a perfectly healthy goat or pig, they settled instead to drink the blood of chickens. They were lucky that the mangy birds roamed as freely throughout the countryside as they did in the back streets of the city. They considered what they had done to be a favor to the homeless men who tried to sleep on the streets at night. At least several beaks would never squawk again.

The pair of thirsty vampires managed to sneak away before an angry farmer could catch them, laughing mischievously on their way back to the inn in the dark like two unruly teenagers who had stayed out past their curfew.

Their feet retraced their footsteps in the shadows of the foliage covered pathway, pausing in the same places to kiss before continuing the short journey home. Rather like a car needed fuel to continue running, a couple in love needed the occasional kiss to continue walking.

Esme requested a final pause just several yards away from the door to their den, in the shade of a bamboo tree. Her lips were an unruly distraction from the threat of her restless little hand as it came dangerously close to brushing the box of earrings in his pocket…

"Let's hurry along now," Carlisle suggested, breaking the kiss to his wife's mild dismay.

He attempted to pull her through the warmly lit doorway, but was rejected by her tugging hands.

"Oh, Carlisle, let's go down to the beach before we go back inside!" she exclaimed with an excited gesture toward the sea, dropping her basket of fruits by the doorstep. "It's just a bit further down, and I don't want to wait until morning – what if the sun comes out again?"

She was rambling on and on as if she thought he would protest to the idea.

Laughing, Carlisle took her hand and shut the door decisively. "I'm not keeping you."

Two pairs of shoes were off in an instant, abandoned haphazardly by the door. They would no doubt be stolen by the time their owners returned to the house, but that was half the point.

Carlisle and Esme weren't very careful about watching their speed as they ran.

The dirt path gradually faded into sand the closer they came to the shore. The sand on the beach was rough and still surprisingly warm from the sun's ruthless glare all day long. Under the moon, the sands sparkled silver, and the waves on the sea were calm, colored deeper than molten sapphire. It was a scene unlike any Esme had ever seen before, and when she reached the edge of the shoreline she stood still and stunned as the water flirted with the tips of her toes.

The gauzy fabric of her dress was flustered by the breeze, barely concealing the slender perfection of her two graceful legs as she stepped boldly closer to the source of her wonder.

Always taking advantage of Esme's distraction, Carlisle hastily approached a woman selling flowers on the beach and requested her finest bloom. In smoothest Hindi, the young lady informed her customer that there was only one Lotus left. He gave up his very last coins for it without hesitation.

Carlisle's pockets were now empty, which could only mean one thing: His day had gone exactly as he had planned.

Walking slowly back to the place where his wife stood alone on the shore, Carlisle felt nothing else around him but the pull of her familiar silhouette, framed by the glistening blue waves. Not the sand beneath his feet, or the wind through his hair, or the curious gaze of the flower girl behind him could draw his interest away.

His feet led him loyally to stand behind Esme, where he raised his hand and tucked the pure white flower lovingly into her hair. She tilted her head back willingly to receive his gift, though it took a moment more for Carlisle to realize that she was willing to receive more than just a flower…

"The Lotus flower is regarded as sacred in Asia," he whispered as he kissed her temple. "It befits you."

"Sacred, Carlisle?" He could hear her smile.

"You're sacred to me," he confirmed, wrapping both arms firmly around her from behind.

"Hush," she hissed insincerely, letting her head fall back against his shoulder. His head promptly ducked down to catch her lips in a languid kiss.

The small white flower was momentarily crushed between them where his cheek pressed against its petals. One silken flake fell as he brushed it loose, coming to a peaceful rest on Esme's pale collarbone. She didn't notice, so he left it there, waiting to see how long it would last.

"Its scent is intoxicating," she remarked as the flower's perfume was freed from their careless tampering.

"Some believe that the Lotus holds the scent of heaven," he whispered.

"Hmm," she breathed deeply, trailing her fingers down his arms until her hands were resting over his. "I wish we could stay here all night." Her eyes fluttered dreamily as she stared out to the open sea.

"We would have to at least pretend to fall asleep in the sand," he said with a tone of mild distaste.

She giggled her consent. "That would be fine."

His arms squeezed her tighter for an instant before he pulled her suggestively in the opposite direction.

"I'd rather pretend to sleep elsewhere, darling," he purred.

"Where did you have in mind?"

**-}0{-**

Needless to say, the night was not spent pretending to sleep. It would have been a tragic waste for their first evening in a foreign country. Esme lingered on the porch to admire the sea for several more minutes, every sigh and shift of her ankles being savored by the vigilant gaze of her husband inside the house.

Carlisle had always said he loved to watch the water while he said his prayers. Wherever his family moved, they tried to stay close to a body of water for that very reason. Whether it was a lake, a river, or even the small pond they now owned in their home in New York, they had made due with whatever they could find. The luxury of having an entire sea to watch from their window was almost too good to be true. Perhaps someday they would be lucky enough to find permanent residence somewhere close to an ocean.

Inside the dimly lit room, Carlisle's eyes fondly followed the slow pace of his wife on the porch. Nothing delighted him more than knowing that the pacing was a peculiar habit she had picked up from him. He knew she was praying, though there was no definitive way to be certain – he could just tell. Esme often told him the same when she noticed him praying. It could have been the most discreet moment of spiritual awareness, yet she caught it somehow, and she never failed to let him know when she saw it in his eyes.

Carlisle never grew tired of watching her graceful form outside the open doors. Even when his ache to have her closer grew ever more unbearable, he was content to simply watch her from afar, taking comfort in knowing that she would always be his whether she was in his arms or a small distance away.

In her brief absence, he was helpless to sneak the box of earrings out for a quick peek at the jewels in the candlelight. He spent several minutes lost in pure fascination, twirling the earrings slowly beneath the light of the lantern, their color shifting from milky jade to a brilliant shamrock as he altered the angle. They would make a stunning addition to his wife's lovely ears.

When she came back into the room he hid them swiftly, and bowed his head down to innocently immerse himself in his writing.

Esme gracefully settled herself on the daybed, laying her dainty feet on the table beside a tray of coconut chocolates and glazed dates that would sadly never be savored. In her hand she absently twirled her new purple scarf, smiling slyly as she tossed it over her husband's shoulder in attempt to distract him.

She delighted when his cheek twitched at her teasing, but so long as he was writing, Carlisle remained remarkably unfazed by much other than the movement of his pen. The strokes of the ink across the page shifted gracefully between being feverish and calming. His arms however, remained relaxed as he leaned forward slightly over his journal, shirt wide open, candles dancing to get his attention. But he was hopelessly rapt in his writing.

"I know you must have plenty to write about, love, but you won't be hunched over that journal of yours all night long, will you?"

He glanced up at her with an utterly forgivable grin. "I'll just be a minute more, I promise."

"So the Lotus is sacred, is it?" Esme questioned idly, her eyes glittering softly as she pulled the flower from her hair to study it more closely.

Carlisle raised his head once again to send her a significant look.

"I know Edward told you the Lotus flower story."

She looked slightly surprised for a moment before she quirked an eyebrow and bit her lip in a clear expression of guilt.

"That was before we even shared our first kiss, darling," she reminded.

"Not long before it, I believe," he recalled huskily before finishing the last sentence on the page.

Esme sighed theatrically, throwing her head back against the pillow. "Well, I could hardly resist you after hearing a story like that."

He laughed wholesomely, the words growing illegible under his pen.

"To think all those women believed my husband to be a reincarnation of their _god..._" Esme gushed, her eyes vibrant.

"Should we be thankful there were no misunderstandings this time around?" Carlisle grinned impishly as he closed the cover of his journal and held it possessively against his lap.

"I don't know, it might have been good for a laugh," she giggled.

He waited a few moments for her lovely laughter to settle, not wanting to interrupt the sweet song so soon.

His voice was soft but serious when he spoke. "_You_ could adorn me with Lotus petals, you know."

Her eyes widened slightly in appeal, and Carlisle's chest tightened pleasantly in response. Raising herself up on one elbow, Esme took the white flower in her hand and slowly began to pluck its petals one by one, gathering them on the pillow. Her fingers were slightly unsteady, her eyes full of suggestive affection.

"I feel as though this could be considered sacrilegious if we were to get caught," she murmured.

A single blond eyebrow lifted in challenge. "Who would catch us?" he asked as he began to undo the remaining buttons of his shirt.

Carlisle watched wistfully as his beautiful odalisque rose from her bed, carrying her pillow full of delicate white petals to kneel before him as he reached the last stubborn button. Stopping him with one hooked finger around his wrist, Esme pressed a long kiss to his forehead, gripping the remnants of her flower tightly in her hand. When her eyes opened she watched as Carlisle's hand discreetly passed over the elaborate cover of the Kama Sutra where it lay beside him on the table. His finger lingered suggestively on the corner, lightly caressing the pages beneath.

"Are there any...methods involving the Lotus flower in that book of yours?" Esme asked as she slowly tugged his sleeves off his arms.

His gaze flickered down to appraise the gilded cover, and a current of silken fire traveled up the back of his neck. "Oddly enough there are..."

Her eyes sparkled approvingly. "Start reading, then, Doctor."

As the first page was opened in his lap, she lifted her hand and let the white petals fall upon his bare shoulders.

* * *

_**A/N: **__I did some research on the Kama Sutra (don't try it at work!), and there is actually a "position" mentioned which is named after the sacred Lotus flower. This story is rated T, therefore I can't go into any more depth, but if you read Chapter 7 of my story "Our Love is Art", you can see the M-rated continuation of this chapter.  
_

_Oh, and if you are curious about the 'Lotus flower story' Carlisle refers to, Edward will be telling it to Esme in a future chapter of __Stained Glass Soul__. _

_Thank you for reading! As always I love hearing your thoughts._


	4. Sunbirds and Seagulls

**Chapter 4:**

**Sunbirds and Seagulls**

**

* * *

**

The mornings in India were just as exciting as the evenings. The evenings were filled with fumbling tourists, a dozen tongues bartering for goods, the scents of spices and exotic fruit hanging thick in the air, and a bright violet sky choked by a thousand stars. But the mornings were fascinatingly silent, the harbor left deserted and barren, like the ruins of a long-lost kingdom, or an ancient ghost-town on the water's edge.

This morning, specifically, the mood was eerie and still, a misty white fog draped over the buildings and hovering around the ships in the bay. All was quiet and calm, even the palms stirred by a sparse gust of wind were silent as they danced.

Instead of a rooster's call, the soft cry of a seagull was the first sound of life to wake the world before the sun rose. The clouds were heavy this morning, and the sun's presence was visible only as a dim, greenish spotlight behind the mottled horizon.

Esme had been the first to rise at the seagull's song, her head lifting from the pillow with ease. Her husband shifted beside her as he watched her sit up, his eyes just as free from fatigue.

Had they been a human couple they would have been exhausted from a night of vigorous passion, and most likely sore from religiously following the pages of the Kama Sutra without break. Needing not a wink of sleep may have been a curse for many reasons, but the one thing it had not cursed was their love life.

A sunless sky in the morning was a welcoming scene for a vampire. The horizon over the sea was like molten charcoal, and the waves were dull green with fluffy white foam on the tips of the curling waves. The occasional shimmer of a gray fish beneath the surface or a translucent ivory crab on the sand brought just a touch of life to a lifeless scene. It was beautiful in a way only an artist could truly see.

Fortunately, Esme was the most sympathetic artist around.

She grabbed her husband's hand and pulled him upright, dressing him as a mother would dress a sleepy child in the morning. Her hands were patient and his limbs were accommodating. She sat across from him as she draped his shirt over his shoulders, brushing away any lotus petals that had lingered from the night before. The velvety white flakes tickled his chest as they fell, and Esme considerately collected the ones that had landed in his lap.

"I'll be shedding lotus petals for a week," he whispered against her forehead as she plucked the last petal from between his legs.

"It suits you," she whispered back.

Wrapping herself in her own white robe, she dragged him to the door, insisting that they make the most of this ideal morning by visiting the ocean together.

Any lotus petals that had been clinging to Carlisle's shirt were scattered at last as he ran after his wife into the colossal green waves.

Esme looked like a lost white water nymph, cloaked in her loose-fitting morning gown. The water licked happily at her toes as she waded, the sand glistening vainly to catch her attention. Her husband, too, tried to catch her attention with the occasional wave of his hand toward her fluttering caramel tresses. Her feet continued a giddy but graceful dance as she stepped lightly around him, avoiding the brush of his fingers against her hair.

Frustrated, Carlisle rushed into the waves after her, chasing her through the sparkling spray. The ocean clasped at their knees, trying in vain to swallow them whole, but they were too quick to fall prey to the water's wrath. Esme's laughter echoed over the deserted beach, drawing the attention of a few irritable seagulls whose mornings were usually spent in silence.

The large white birds glided past her in a wide flock, fluttering overhead until they landed on the tops of the droopy palm trees. The setting of this gray, humid morning was hardly romantic, but the dismal weather kept the crowds away. Only a pair of vampires would find rain and overcast skies appealing for a day on the beach.

If Esme's laughter had stirred the seagulls, Carlisle's laughter had frightened them off. He dragged his arms threateningly through the rising waves and splashed his wife until her clothes were no longer so loose-fitting. They warred in the water with the restless vigor of adolescents, and had they been human, they would not have stopped until their lungs were straining for breath.

Both soaked from the waist down, they collided in fits of laughter, Esme still fighting the capture she knew would be inevitable. She managed to work herself free of Carlisle's arms, taking two more steps into the raging waves before he pulled her close and tipped her chin up to treat himself to a kiss. This time she did not resist, her hands burrowing luxuriantly through his windswept golden locks as their tongues were lost in a loving wrestle.

Esme threw herself into the kiss, much to Carlisle's jubilation – and as a result of her enthusiastic force, they both ended up on the ground, curled together clumsily in the moist sand.

Esme's arms stretched languidly above her head, long tendrils of her damp hair spread out on the sand like limp, coppery flames. "Let's move here," she suggested in a gushing voice.

Raising himself up over his wife, Carlisle cupped her cheek in his hand and shook his head. "You've said the same when we were on your island, my darling."

"Well, we should move _somewhere_ with sand," she groaned, taking a fistful of the thick dust in her hand. "Lots...and lots...of sand." She giggled as she let the ivory grains rain down on the back of his knee.

"I'll buy you sand," Carlisle negotiated, reaching back to brush away the decorative dust. "...Lots and lots of sand."

Esme laughed robustly. "Oh, that's practical."

"In fact, we'll fill up the entire cellar of our house with sand," he proposed, his eyes sparkling with creative inspiration as his voice lowered. "And I'll have you paint the ceiling like the sky," he said between soft kisses to her forehead, "and the walls like the ocean…" He stroked a loving finger down the back of her neck. "…and then you'll pretend to drown so that I can perform artificial respiration on you..."

Shoving his shoulder, she wriggled out from underneath him. "Alright, now you're just getting carried away."

Carlisle grinned, slipping a handful of sand to sprinkle it casually along his wife's thigh. "We've already established that you enjoy when I get carried away."

Esme shifted her leg so that the sand fell away, propping herself up on her elbows to look him in the eye. "Hmm, perhaps we're both getting carried away..."

He leaned in close before she could scoot backwards, his voice low as he brushed his lips against her cheek. "But the real question is, Mrs. Cullen, _where_ exactly are we being carried?"

She smirked and playfully captured his arms in tight a grip, mumbling unappreciatively about how he always had to turn all philosophical on her in the most heated moments. Granted, she had been guilty of this more often than he had in the past. Luckily for them, twenty plus years of marriage had helped to balance things out a bit.

"Where would you _like_ me to carry you?" she teased, rubbing her nose affectionately against his.

"Far away," he whispered, as if in a trance.

"We're already far away."

"Carry me further," he demanded.

Esme smiled indulgently, rather enjoying listening to her husband play the part of the damsel for a change. "How far is far enough, my love?"

He lowered his voice even further before touching his lips to the base of her throat. "You can stop when we reach heaven."

"That can be arranged."

**-}0{-**

Lovemaking on the beach was reserved for Isle Esme. It would have been unwise to take the risk on any foreign beach, even if it was unlikely that they would be discovered on such a dreary morning.

Besides, behind a fortress of foliage-infested palm trees was just as good a place as any.

"You're turning me into something depraved, my dear," Carlisle accused, his voice breathless in the shade of the heavy leaves that surrounded their bare bodies.

Esme smiled impishly as her fingers traveled up the span of his back. "Likewise."

"I can't seem to keep my hands off of you for more than an hour at a time," he whimpered, burying his hands into her hair as he flipped her beneath him.

"Must be something in the water," she surmised lazily.

Carlisle sighed with a deep chuckle, "Now I see why you want to move here."

"It's wonderful, isn't it?" she asked rhetorically, her eyes blinking adoringly up at him.

He burrowed his nose into her neck and hummed against her. "Mmmhmm..."

"I want to make our island just like this," she declared wistfully.

"Then we should keep a copy of the Kama Sutra in the bedroom," he suggested with a wry grin.

"Not just on the island, though," she corrected.

"On second thought, it won't be necessary," Carlisle assured smugly. "I'm fairly sure I have it memorized by now."

Esme feigned displeasure. "Don't go around telling other women that."

His dimples flickered in amusement. "Why not?"

"Because devastatingly handsome surgeons who have the Kama Sutra memorized are a coveted breed of husband."

The doctor smirked. "Do you think I would allow another woman to steal me from you?"

Esme pursed her lips, tucking his head firmly between her hands. "You'd be surprised how ruthlessly possessive some women can be."

"Would you consider yourself 'ruthlessly possessive', Esme?" he whispered.

"Absolutely."

Her fiery kiss ensured another long hour spent hidden between the trees. Every chirp of the birds above was but a trivial interruption to their ceaseless passion. The ivy beneath their backs was pressed to a fine green powder, the misty fog upon the ground serving as their only blanket. The intense humidity would have been a danger for any living, breathing couple – the fragrance drawing them in with its sweet spell before they would suffocate under the strain of such heady air.

But vampires never came up for breath.

The ground seemed to cool around them as they descended from their high, the mist dispersing, having done its job to protect them from prying eyes. Now they lay in nothing but their pure white skin, tucked so closely against one another that they looked to still be one.

Empty thunder sounded off in the distance as a breeze blew through the tops of the trees. Fronds of dry rattan shivered as if frightened by the soft sounds of the storm, each blade bejeweled with tiny brass-colored beetles searching for shelter from the rain.

With hushed voices the couple watched for exotic birds from their mossy bed, their words punctuated by the wayward raindrops that slipped beneath the canopy of palm trees overhead.

"See that one, way up in the cocoa tree over there?"

Esme looked in the direction her husband pointed. "Mmhm."

"That one is called a sunbird."

Esme was rather surprised by its name, expecting the bird in question to be yellow in color. Instead, its feathers were a deep, shiny shade of teal, tipped with inky black.

"It's lovely, but it doesn't look very much like the sun," she said, nudging her head against Carlisle's shoulder as they both watched it flutter away.

He smiled to himself as he explained the name. "They're called sunbirds because they enjoy sitting at the very tops of the trees, where they can be in the sun."

"Oh," Esme laughed in understanding.

"Shh, look…" Carlisle whispered, directing her gaze to the left. "That one on the rock over there, that's a flycatcher."

Esme smiled wryly as she turned her head to watch the bright orange bird hop from one stone to the other, jerking its tiny head back and forth in search of passing insects.

"I think I can guess why it's called that."

Carlisle laughed softly, tugging the ends of her hair in a teasing gesture.

"Remember that time you bought me those doves?" Esme asked reminiscently.

"Yes." It was just a one word answer, but his voice was inebriated with affection.

"You should capture a pair of sunbirds, and we'll bring them home with us."

He gave her a sad look before clearing his throat. "I think they might prove a bit too...tempting if we had to carry them with us all the way home, darling."

Esme had to sullenly agree. "Hmm."

"I'll buy you another pair of birds when we return," Carlisle offered, "if that would please you."

She sighed heavily as he draped his arm around her. "We would just end up letting them fly free like we did with those doves."

"Anything with wings longs to fly free," Carlisle said thoughtfully. "It's just in their nature."

"That is very true," she mused as she trailed her fingers contentedly over his chest. "It's so nice not having anything serious to talk about," she added as a segue into simpler conversation.

Carlisle smirked out of her view. "You know that's because anytime there's nothing serious to talk about we end up like this," he said slyly, gesturing to their bodies. "Naked in a forest somewhere."

Esme giggled. "You exaggerate."

He sat up, grinning guiltily, and reached for his shirt. "Ah—still soaked," he sighed, spreading the wet sleeves out across his arms to show her.

Esme bit her lip as she scooped up her nightdress, finding it even more drenched than it had been when they came out of the ocean. "It must have been raining while we were..."

As her words trailed off, Carlisle warily caught her eye. "Finish the sentence, love."

No matter how sweet and innocent his voice, it would not have stopped her from slapping him in the side with her wet robe.

"Unnecessary," she murmured before capturing his smiling lips in a violent kiss.

Just as quickly as she had attacked him, Esme pulled away, stuffing the rest of his clothes against his stomach. Carlisle idly began to slip his legs into his trousers. "For the rest of the day now I'm going to be dreadfully curious about what you were going to say..."

Esme threw him a cheeky look over her shoulder as she tied the sash of her robe. "You'll survive."

**-}0{-**

After a stealthy hunt through the beachside jungle before nightfall, Carlisle dragged his willing wife back to the market square where the deserted ghost-town had reawakened with crowds of unfamiliar faces, busier than the inside of a beehive in summertime.

Though she had spent the previous evening cleaning out every vendor's stand in sight, Esme now wished to visit the few she had not yet met. Lucky she was that the streets of Mumbai were rarely filled with the same characters from one eve to the next. Tonight, a tall black ship carrying a band of charismatic pirates had dropped in for show. Carlisle knew that his wife, being the fire-hearted romantic she was, would find the scene at the harbor greatly intriguing.

He was comfortable allowing Esme a step closer, knowing she could defend herself well if threatened. But the ominous guests had surprised the harbor folk with their kindly manners, despite their dastardly faces. Not surprisingly, Esme was quite a charming point of attention amongst the crew members. One fellow had even offered Esme the chance to hold his pet parrot for a while. She departed the harbor that night with a sack full of golden clams and her very own sheathed dagger, compliments of the ship's captain.

Carlisle was forced to hold back laughter watching his sweet wife mingle with a ship full of Scandinavian sea rats. Here he'd been worried they would attempt to slit her throat, and all they seemed to want was a moment to bask in her gaze. He didn't blame them of course; Esme was surely more beautiful than any mermaid they could have hoped to see on the ocean. And she was not even a hallucination – she was real.

Perhaps it had helped that she was one of the few women not covered from head to toe in a formless black robe.

After such an exciting scene, Esme was determined to make good use of her unexpected rewards. She decided to spend a handful of golden clams on a fine Persian quilt. Her choice of pattern was not an easy one; each blanket was equally beautiful as the next, and each had a unique story of how it came to be.

The woman who sold the quilts was quite intent that her customer should hear each story in detail. As she recounted each fantastic tale in rapid Hindi, Carlisle translated so that his wife could listen as well.

The first quilt was said to have been hand sewn by an old woman who many believed to be an oracle. It was the color of the night sky, peppered with small eight-point stars of silver and gold. It was thin and light, almost sheer – more like a shawl than a blanket.

The second quilt was covered in all shades of green in simple but small, precise patterns, with twisting leaves and tendrils of ivy. Its edges were printed with bright orange flora, and it was rumored that if one bent close enough, she would breathe in the everlasting perfume of the tiger lily.

The third quilt was thicker than the last two, printed with swirls and exotic shapes in shimmering colors that resembled many-faceted gemstones. Rich purples and sea blues and shamrock greens, all interlaced with thin golden filigree, each corner decorated with a shiny threaded tassel.

"What is the story behind this quilt?" Esme asked in a secretive tone as her fingers explored the dizzying pattern.

The woman behind the veil mumbled what sounded like an incantation to Carlisle, her hands cupped mystically around her mouth as she spoke. Carlisle turned to his wife with sparkling eyes and a careful translation. "She says this quilt is really a magic carpet. That on a full moon night, one need only wish to fly upon it, and it will whisk her away to the land of her dreams."

"I should very much like to visit the land of my dreams," Esme whispered to her husband.

Down went the coins and up went Esme's spirits.

Her new blanket was wrapped like a colorful silk scroll and tucked beneath Carlisle's arm as they headed back to their candlelit dwelling for the night.

"It's a shame that the moon is not full tonight," Carlisle observed as Esme opened the door.

"I don't think I'll need a full moon to bring my dreams to life," she murmured, kissing the inside of her husband's hand as she tugged him toward the window.

Carlisle paused to unravel the priceless quilt, smoothing it out over the surface of the daybed for his wife to lay upon. He lifted her properly with both arms and placed her on the quilt, admiring the way her pale skin blazed against the dark, shimmering patterns. Kneeling before her feet, he removed her sandals and kissed each of her toes in turn while she watched with a mirthful smile.

"You treat me like a queen," she whispered with a wicked little laugh.

Carlisle's lips broke into a pleased smirk as his fingers traveled slowly up her ankle. "What shall I render to thee, Majesty?"

Esme heaved a theatrical sigh, charmed by his naturally winsome accent. "Don't talk like that – I'll do something unthinkable."

Letting go of her foot, he raised himself up onto the shallow bed beside her and tucked her hair behind her ears.

"I'd appreciate that," he noted with a grin, kissing lazily up and down her throat.

He spent a few moments of silence worshipping her body in a manner of gentlest sensuality. Every inch of her skin seemed to beg his tongue's blessing, and with every new inch he touched, she shuddered excitedly.

"It's so breathtaking," she murmured suddenly. "The sea."

Turning his head to look out the window, Carlisle sighed in agreement.

"I wish I could keep it with me, always," Esme confessed, curling her fingers around his wrist to bring his hand to her heart. "I'll miss it when we have to leave."

Her words sparked a tender burning sensation in Carlisle's pocket where the twin emerald earrings still hid from the night before. Knowing he would not find a more opportune moment to give her the gift, Carlisle sat up beside the window and reached into his pocket.

"Esme, my darling..."

Her eyes glittered under the moonlight as she looked up at him from her bed. "Yes?"

"What if I told you there _was _a way you could keep the sea?"

* * *

_**A/N: **__One more chapter after this, and Esme will finally get her emerald earrings. :) _


	5. You Can Keep the Sea

**Chapter 5:**

**You Can Keep the Sea**

* * *

_"Esme, my darling..."_

_Her eyes glittered under the moonlight as she looked up at him from her bed. "Yes?"_

_"What if I told you there was a way you could keep the sea?"_

Her expression was confused but her eyes were full of wonder, just as he knew they would be. The moonlight glinted off her flawless skin where she lay beside the open window, her head cocked to one side on her pillow. The shallow depth of her dimples conveyed curiosity, and Carlisle was unable to resist kissing both in turn before he took her hand and pulled her gently to her feet.

She teased him by pretending her knees were too weak to stand properly, and he played along with a silent smirk, indulging her wish to be carried. A sigh of delight slipped like silk-thread to his ear as he opened the door and took her out into the night.

"Are you going to try stuffing the entire sea into my pockets?" she whispered with a drunken sounding giggle. Carlisle's humble smirk broadened.

"Don't be ridiculous, Esme. You have no pockets."

"Well, no, not the conventional kind..." she murmured suggestively, trailing a discreet finger across her bust.

Her teasing prompted him to quicken his pace toward the gentle rage of the ocean at the end of the beach.

She wore a thoroughly confused look as he planted her in the sand near the shoreline then bent over to scoop a heaping handful of sea water in both his hands. Before she could anticipate his move, he boldly poured the water down the front of her dress.

Esme shrieked and stumbled backwards as her mischievous husband doubled over with boyish laughter. She gave his chest a solid push toward the water, trying in vain to knock him backward while he carried on laughing.

"You're wicked, you know that?" she huffed with a begrudging smirk as she attempted to pat her dress dry.

He gave her a tender smile, his eyes drifting down to appraise her beautifully soaked breasts. "You asked to keep the sea," he innocently reminded.

"I had something a bit more romantic in mind," she muttered, picking out a strand of seaweed from her brassiere.

"Well, the night is young. There might be something more romantic still in store for you," he said agreeably, linking her arm in his as he began to walk along the shore.

"Carlisle, now I'm going to smell like salt for the rest of the night," Esme complained, wriggling uncomfortably in the drenched fabric of her dress.

"That's nothing a good licking won't take care of, darling," he whispered into her ear, touching his tongue to the curve of her jaw to tease her.

He felt her shudder in his arms and smiled up at the moon.

The sky above them was the muted black and blue color of a fresh bruise, tainted from the humidity. Beneath it, the ocean reflected shivering silver moonbeams in the water. Carlisle could hear the sea calling for him in the darkness; every wave born out of the ocean's womb was roaring out his name. The palm leaves of the trees above him rustled in mirthless laughter. He was a little nervous for the moment that was soon to come; everything surrounding him, suddenly personified in his mind, was proof of this.

Carlisle imagined that night gulls were chuckling at him, insects were blinking at him, the sky was attempting to protect him. But in the midst of it all, Esme was the only one who mattered. She was only one whose stare made him warm, whose gentle giggle excited him, whose hand gave him a feeling of security as she walked along the coast with him.

She strolled alongside him with her hand against the plane of his hip, her fingers rolling affectionately up and down the space as if she were strumming a guitar. He started to falter in his pace, distracted by the soundless chords she was playing on his pants pocket.

"You're hiding something from me, aren't you?" she suddenly asked. Her voice had the beautiful bite of suspicion.

Carlisle immediately straightened his posture and feigned innocence. "What makes you think that?"

"You were nearly hyper just a moment ago, and now you're too quiet," she pointed out.

"I'm just enjoying the night with you."

His pace unintentionally quickened as he walked along the sandy beach beside her.

Esme smirked. "I know you're hiding something. I can tell."

"How?"

She brushed his hip with her hand, sending a pleasant jolt through his leg. "I can feel something hard in your pocket." Her fingers crawled over his waist and down his thigh, trying to feel the shape of what was hidden beneath the fabric.

If she kept touching him like this, the earring case wouldn't be the only "something hard" she could feel.

Carlisle sighed in defeat, knowing his wife had discovered his secret. He slowed to a standstill in the shallow tide, holding her hand against the rim of his pocket.

"Then you should reach inside and take it," he whispered.

Her eyes lit up as her fingers dug inside his pocket to take out the small wooden box, studying it warily with her fingers and eyes.

"It's not going to be more sea water, is it?" she asked, her eyes full of warning.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "It's much better than that, I promise you."

"And less wet, I hope."

"Naturally."

"Should I open it?" Her voice was suddenly faint and mystified.

He gently placed his hand over the lid before she could lift it to peek inside.

"Step into the moonlight first," he ordered her softly.

Esme smiled wide and followed his instruction, her feet tenderly crushing the sand as she moved out of the palm's shade and into the spotlight of the brilliant moon.

"Is right here good?" she asked, standing so close to him that the tips of her toes were kissing his.

"Right here is perfect," he approved.

"Now I can open it?"

He nodded as if mesmerized, his eyes never leaving the tiny box in her hand. She bit her lip in anticipation and slowly raised the thin wooden lid with her thumbs.

"Oh..." She gasped in awe as the hidden earrings were revealed under the moonlight. Set beneath a thread of miniscule diamonds, two perfect green stones twinkled up at her; their humble size only made them more endearingly mystical. "Carlisle, are they...?"

"Emeralds," he replied, a soft note of pride in his voice, "to match the sea."

"They're so beautiful," she sighed, touching the bright green jewel with her fingertip. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you will wear them for the rest of our stay here and never take them off," he said with a silly smile.

She giggled softly as he picked a single earring from the box and gently hooked it into her pierced earlobe. "I would, but we'd have to make more of an effort to be less rowdy than we have been so far," she chided, "or I could end up losing one."

"In that case, just wear them tonight," he teased with a winsome smirk.

Esme stood on her tiptoes and kissed his crooked smile. "I think I'll do that."

With her permission, he carefully slid the other earring into her naked ear, stroking her long hair behind her ears to appraise the jewels beside her exquisite face.

"How do they look?" she asked, her expression almost shy, as if his disapproval were even conceivable.

"You look enchanting," he said in a voice battered dry with honesty, bowing his head to touch his lips to her forehead as the wind tossed their hair into affectionate tangles.

Esme looked down, bashful. "I suppose I must now return the favor somehow..." she mused, depositing the small wooden earring box back into his pocket. Her hand lingered there securely even after the box was safe inside, but he didn't mind.

"Esme, you know nothing in return is necessary," he said as he began to walk up the beach again, her hand still clinging to his pocket. A ticklish chuckle escaped his lips as she tugged him tighter, resisting the direction of his walk.

"But I have been meaning to give _you _something as well, Carlisle," she insisted.

He stopped to stare down at her, his eyes drawn up in curiosity and lit with subtle excitement. "A gift?"

She smiled in a way that made him both thrilled and slightly uneasy.

"Yes." Her gaze drifted down his legs then back up again, settling on his lips. "A... gift."

"Do you have it with you?" he asked, earning a tiny shriek of amusement as he pretended to search her flimsy dress for something she could be hiding.

She shook her head as she stumbled away from his grip, causing her new earrings to glitter wildly in the moonlight. "It's back at the inn."

"You've sparked my curiosity, darling," Carlisle said warmly. "I must see this gift now."

Her face was glowing with glee as the ocean breeze swept her long curls behind her still wet shoulders, making her look like a resurrected sea goddess under the stars.

"Well then, come back with me and I'll show it to you."

She sprung ahead of him, barely making footprints in the sand with such a light, quick step. Laughing, he chased her up the beach, through the barricade of palm trees and back into their dwelling. The cheaply made plywood door creaked its welcome as they stumbled upon each other on their way inside, and Carlisle was surprised by the brief thought that he would be missing that creaky door whenever their trip came to an end.

Esme hooked her delicate fingers into his pockets and pulled him deeper into the darkness, the swish of her dress leading him in the right direction. When she had him where she wanted him, she let go of his pockets and drifted into the corner of the room where she rummaged through her belongings. While his wife searched in the shadows, Carlisle re-lit a few of the candles that had gone out from the wind while they were gone.

When he looked over to her corner, Esme stared back at him in the dim light with mischievous eyes, standing by the window with her hands clasping a tightly bound cloth.

"Before I give you your gift you must make some subtle changes to your wardrobe," she said, clearly enjoying being so cryptic with him.

He cocked his head in confusion, smiling wryly as he wondered what on earth she was leading up to.

"You brought your boots, didn't you?" she asked eagerly.

"Several pairs..." He nodded. "Which ones did you have in mind?"

A sweet yet wicked smile crossed her lips. "You know the pair."

Reaching into the cupboard where they kept their shoes, he swiftly collected the leather boots that nearly reached his knees - the oldest pair he still owned. He had worn them well before they were married, and being so well made they had yet to fall apart even after decades of running at vampire speed through the forest. He had them taken to the cobbler once every few years of course, but it was only because Esme was so insistent that he keep those boots for as long as possible. Something about them had her smitten, though Carlisle was never quite sure what it was.

Esme's eyes were shining with approval as he perched himself on the window ledge and made a slow show of sliding each boot onto his legs.

When both boots were fastened, he stood up straight and tall, waiting curiously for her next command.

"Now come over here," she sung sweetly, and he obeyed without question.

He watched as she turned over the bunched brown cloth in her hands and undid the frayed strings that bound it. Inside lay the sheathed pirate's dagger that she had collected from the harbor flock. The wicked gleam never left Esme's eyes as she approached her husband and bent gracefully to tuck the dagger into his right boot.

"I must confess I wasn't quite expecting _this_," Carlisle murmured, shifting his right leg experimentally with the added light weight.

"You encourage _me _to wear gaudy jewelry," Esme accused, rising up to stand at her full height. "Why shouldn't your wife encourage you to wear a deadly weapon?"

Her ankle playfully nudged the heel of his boot, her body brushing his front as she came closer.

"Is there something about me wearing a 'deadly weapon' that appeals to you, Esme?"

There was a hopefulness in his voice, a quiet strain of knowingness that delighted her. He could see the light fill her eyes as she stepped back to take in his appearance.

Esme stood by her secret assessment. With his loose, wheat-colored shirt, wind-battered trousers and dark, knee hugging boots, her husband easily fit her fantasy with justice. Though it was invisible now, knowing the sharp pirate's dagger was concealed in his right boot made him look beautifully intimidating as he stood before her, engulfed between the moon and candlelight. His windswept blond hair and eternally handsome face made him look like a painting brought to life.

"It makes you seem like a storybook hero," she finally told him, smiling fondly in spite of her own antics.

Carlisle laughed infectiously as he stepped forward and drew a loving arm around his wife's slender waist. "So how does our story end, my love?" he asked, nose pressed to her warm neck.

"You carry me back to the sea and we spend the entire night together, waiting for the sun to rise," she said in a matter-of-fact yet wistful voice.

He grinned out of her sight. Esme clearly had her answer planned for a while.

Raising his hand, Carlisle beckoned one emerald earring with his finger and whispered into her ear. "And you can keep the sea after all..."

* * *

**A/N:** ..._And when Carlisle and Esme arrive back home, Edward discovers the pirate's dagger in Carlisle's boot and wonders whatever happened to his father the pacifist... ;)_

_Well that concludes my little story. I hope you enjoyed it! My apologies for taking so long to write each chapter, but thank you to everyone who read along! _

* * *

_**On June 13, 2011, VH1 Big Morning Buzz Live invited Twilight actress Elizabeth Reaser (who portrays Esme in the Twilight movies) to read an excerpt from my story. I can't convey the extent of my excitement when I discovered this. I am amazed and bewildered to have this recognition! If you read this, thank you so much, Liz! As a fanfiction author whose work is done only for free, you just gave me the greatest payment I could ever ask for! ^_^**  
_


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